untitled

This is the first assignment I wrote for my Feature Writing class. Writing fiction was a lot more difficult than I had expected, and I had actually written almost one whole piece before deciding on a complete re-write. We were told that titles are unnecessary, and I have to agree cuz I really don't have one and I don't quite see the need. It'll probably just influence your perception about the story, so here it is, in all its titleless glory. I still feel kinda insecure about it, but the (more than) decent grade helped :) Much thanks to my editors, P and V.

***

The tall, glass windows and steel fixtures that surrounded her made her feel as though she was on board a futuristic space shuttle, headed for a destination unknown. The cool blast of air-conditioning hit her as the automatic doors slid open. It was a welcomed relief from the stifling heat of the car park. Walking into the hall, she was immediately surrounded by throngs of people, each of them seemingly set on a personal mission. How many of them were here for the same reason she was, she wondered. The butterflies that had been flitting around in her stomach for the last couple of hours had somehow learnt to salsa. She felt her heartbeat quicken as her eyes searched the hall for a wall of displays. Spotting them, she struggled to make her way through the crowd. The place was unusually packed, she thought to herself, recalling the last time she was here. It had been a breeze then, unlike today. She finally arrived at the displays only to find that his flight had been delayed. She sighed heavily, realizing that she would be spending the next hour in this massively congested arrival hall. Yet another hour that she would not be spending with him.

Her stomach rumbled, interrupting her thoughts. She had skipped breakfast, having not slept well the night before. Thoughts and plans for the weekend had consumed her and made a good night’s rest an elusive desire. By the time she finally fell asleep, it was almost time to leave for the airport. She had decided to trade breakfast for a few more minutes in bed. Now, she thought to herself, I really need some food.

Her eyes searched the hall again, this time for a different reason. There was a fast food restaurant filled with families and queues that stretched its length. Harried parents were trying to feed their children and themselves, and the noise emanating from that corner of the hall was enough to send her scurrying in the opposite direction. Glimpsing a café a little farther away from the madness, she headed towards it. It was crowded as well, but decidedly less noisy as its patrons were mostly people her own age. Stepping into its cozy warmth, she breathed in the aroma of coffee that permeated the air and glanced around. There was a woman in a long, printed skirt, sitting by herself and flipping through a tattered copy of a travel guide. There was a man with dreadlocks, looking at his laptop screen with a male friend. Then, she caught sight of an empty armchair tucked away in the corner of the shop. She hurried to the counter to place her order, hoping that no one else would get to it before she did.

The queue had only three people in front of her, and by the time she scanned the rather extensive menu, it was her turn.

“Good morning, how can I help you?” asked the floppy-haired teenager behind the counter.

Momentarily distracted by large, metallic ball beneath his lower lip, she paused, trying to remember what she had decided on having.

“I’ll have a…chocolate croissant and a caramel hot chocolate, please,” she told him while rummaging through her bag for her purse. He tapped her order onto the computer screen in front of him. After paying him, she hurried to the armchair only to find that it was now occupied. The man had his back towards her, but she could see that the armchair opposite his was empty. Deciding to find out if that was taken as well, she walked over to him and tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around and she felt her breath catch in her throat. Behind his wire-rimmed glasses, he had deep, green eyes. His dark hair was swept off his forehead with a casualness that suggested just the opposite. He raised his eyebrows questioningly at her.

“Excuse me, is this seat taken?” she asked, pointing to the empty armchair, hoping that the words she had uttered were audible and more importantly, in coherent English.

He glanced briefly at the chair before shaking his head and motioning for her to join him. She placed her bag on the table between them, next to his mug of steaming black coffee. Sinking into the purple velvet of the chair, she took a deep breath and snuck a peek at the young man in front of her. He was wearing a white, pin-striped shirt and reading a thick novel with yellowed pages. As she was trying to read its title, a waiter arrived at their table with her order, causing the man to look up. Once the waiter had left, he flashed a dazzling smile at her and introduced himself.

“Hi, I’m Damien," he said, extending his hand.

“Mia,” she replied, shaking his hand. She hoped that he didn’t notice her slightly sweaty palms.

The butterflies in her stomach had begun their salsa dance again. She smiled at Damien, trying to figure out the attraction she felt to this stranger.

“What brings you here?” he asked, slipping a colorful bookmark between the pages of his novel.

She hesitated, trying to resist the urge to tell him the entire story. For reasons she couldn’t explain, she felt a connection to this person who mere minutes ago, knew nothing of her existence. She felt like she could tell him anything.


“I’m picking my fiancé up,” she began.

His intent gaze didn’t waver. He nodded slightly, not saying a word but somehow compelling her to say more. She suddenly found herself describing the long-distance relationship she had been in for the last four years. The toll it had taken on her, but also how she lived for whatever time they were able to spend together. She told him about the vacations they had taken. The weekend trips to Bangkok and Bali. Skiing in the Swiss Alps. Shopping in Milan. She also expressed the emotional anguish she felt every time they said goodbye. Damien just sat there, occasionally sipping his coffee, listening to every word she said. It was an intense experience for her – she was animated, gesturing and talking ever so quickly. He, on the other hand, was the complete opposite – sitting absolutely still except for the occasional nod.

Before she knew it, she found herself telling him the doubts she had about her impending nuptials. How she wasn’t sure if she was willing to uproot herself from her familiar surroundings, her friends and family – to live in a foreign country, jet-setting around the world whenever necessary. She talked about how intense their relationship was and how much they cared about each other, but how she didn’t know if that was enough. Her eyes welled up as she told him of her fears. He picked up a serviette from the table and offered it to her, her croissant and hot chocolate long forgotten. She took it from him and their fingertips grazed. All of a sudden, the butterflies were now moving to a faster, more intense rhythm. Warning bells sounded in her mind. She took a deep breath and excused herself to go to the washroom.

Standing at the sink, she splashed cold water onto her face. As she picked up a paper napkin, she thought about what had just happened. I can’t believe I told him all that, she thought to herself.

“What was I thinking?” she asked her reflection, drawing curious glances from the other women.

By the time she had brushed her hair and reapplied her make-up, she had devised a plan. She was going to tell him that she had to leave immediately, not wanting to spend another minute under the scrutiny of his attentive gaze.
She arrived back at their table at the exact moment a waiter did. Damien had thoughtfully asked for her croissant and hot chocolate to be reheated. Realizing that she was still hungry, she sank once more into the soft, velvet-covered chair. I’m just going to get this over with, she told herself. She reluctantly looked up to thank him. He flashed her that smile again as she took a bite of the warm, buttery croissant. His eyes never left her, and this was now beginning to unnerve her. She quickly finished the croissant and set the plate down.

“Look,” she began, sitting up. “I haven’t the slightest clue why I told you all those things. I love him. I really do. And we’re getting married in two weeks,” she continued.

He regarded her for a moment before leaning forward, closing the physical distance between them.

“Are you trying to convince me, or are you trying to convince yourself?” he asked.

She cursed silently at how her body welcomed his intrusion of her personal space. I’m going to murder those pesky butterflies, she thought to herself as she felt them start to flutter again. Sighing, she looked away, torn between wanting to defend herself and getting up and leaving. Why should I have to explain myself to this stranger, she asked herself, knowing full well that it was because she actually cared what he thought of her. The attraction she felt towards him unsettled her. She decided to leave before she did anything else that she might later regret. She looked back at him, finding that he hadn’t moved. Shaking her head, she picked up her mug, downing its lukewarm contents.

“Thank you for listening, but I have to go now,” she said as she got up and turned around to leave, not really meeting his eyes.

Suddenly, she felt his fingers around her wrist. She stopped and turned to face him. He was standing up now, towering above her.

“I know you felt everything I felt,” he said softly, his deep voice competing with the surrounding sounds of cutlery and conversation. He stroked the inside of her wrist with his thumb.

She stood there, not quite sure what she should do. Her heart was racing. She was drawn towards him – to his intensity and the way he made her feel she could say anything. At the same time, thoughts of her fiancé fought for her attention. His flight would be arriving at any minute, she reminded herself, desperate for a solution to the dilemma she found herself in.

“Excuse me, is this table taken?” A young woman was standing in front of them, gesturing to their table. She had shattered the connection Damien and Mia had shared only moments before.

Damien looked at Mia, expectantly. She glanced back at him, shook her head and said to the woman, “It’s all yours,” before walking away.

“Wait!” she heard him call out. Ignoring him, she walked faster and disappeared into the crowd.

Back in the arrival hall, she wandered through the hordes of people, looking for a place to sit and wait. She walked past a group of drivers holding up placards with names on them, waiting for their guests. Past banks of seats until she finally spotted an empty one. She settled down in between an old man clutching his walking stick and a young boy clutching a PSP. She glanced at the dials of the diamond-encrusted watch on her wrist, a gift from her fiancé whom she would be seeing very soon. That realization suddenly filled her with a sense of guilt.

Wait.

Why should I feel guilty, she asked herself, staring at the shiny, marble floor. It’s not like anything happened. We just talked! Her attempts at rationalizing her uncharacteristic behavior failed to relieve the sinking feeling she had in her stomach. She looked around, trying to distract herself. It seemed like a group of people had just entered the hall. Wheeling trolleys laden with bags, they searched for familiar faces among the masses. There were tearful reunions, so unlike the tearful farewells taking place in the departure hall. She smiled as she watched a woman about her age jump into the arms of a young man, wrapping her arms around him tightly. The sight warmed her, and she got up, walking towards the entrance of the hall.

She stood on her tiptoes, trying to see past the people gathered there. Another group of weary travelers were making their way into the hall. Her eyes parted the crowd, searching for that familiar tumble of unruly curls. The butterflies started to dance again. This, she thought to herself, is real. She tried to push images of those piercing, green eyes out of her mind. Everything that had happened with Damien was nothing but cold feet and perfectly understandable, she told herself. She glanced down at her watch again, wondering what was taking him so long. All of a sudden, there he was, standing in front of her with the largest bouquet of purple orchids she had ever seen.

His charcoal suit, unbuttoned to reveal a light blue shirt, looked immaculate even after a long-haul flight. With a heart-warming smile, he enveloped her in a hug that literally took her breath away.

“I’ve missed you,” he said, holding her close.

Before she could reply, she saw Damien over her fiancé’s shoulder, watching them from across the hall. That intense, unwavering gaze sent a chill down her spine. Hurriedly pulling away from her fiancé, she explained that she had been waiting in the crowded hall for a long time and just wanted to get out of there. His puzzled expression softened. He took her hand in his, leading her towards the elevators. She cast a glance over her shoulder to where she had seen Damien, looking again for those green eyes. He wasn’t there, and she breathed a sigh of relief. The wretched butterflies finally settled down.

The next evening, she accompanied her fiancé to a dinner he had organized to welcome his new colleague to the city. The past day had been utter bliss, spent relishing the pleasure of each other’s company and sorting out a few last minute wedding details. They walked up to the bar, where a tall man was standing with a drink in one hand. He had his back towards them, and turned around when he was tapped on the shoulder.

“Mia, I’d like you to meet Damien,” said her fiancé.

Her mouth went dry, her heart started to pound. The butterflies had begun to dance again, this time to an unbridled, almost ferocious beat.